Scatter Me (Don't Let Me Be)
by restfulsky5
Summary: "Whatever happens, remember that it's for your own good," Gaila said with a pert lift to her chin. She opened the door. Jim stood, ready to greet his guests with a warm courtesy that was influenced by Gaila's pheremones, only to stare, slackjawed, at the man who appeared. The same man who'd misjudged him. Starfleet Academy AU.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** New (short) story, cross-posted from AO3! I'll update my other WIPs after Christmas, but thought I'd share this particular AU (and eventually a few others) here for now. It's complete, and only four chapters, so there won't be any waiting, just as I post a chapter each day. This first chapter had been posted on my Tumblr account July of '15, but I took it down and revisited it when I felt inspired enough to edit it and turn it into a real story. Huge thanks to Junker5 and Diamondblue4 for being willing to read this little Starfleet Academy AU and offer edits/comments!

This fic explores several "what if" scenarios, including: what if Jim had never gone to the bar and joined Starfleet, and what if McCoy never really got over his aviophobia. The Jim in this story will seem a little different than the one in the first reboot, but there is good reason behind it. So will McCoy, for that matter, because he never had his Jim there to help him along. Despite this, I promise a happy ending in Part Four. :)

Please note there is a pre-slash element to this (between Jim and Leonard). I do plan on writing more in this verse, and have another story (a sequal) in the works, which touches on Jim's issues with food (as a result of his time on Tarsus IV). Hope you enjoy the story!

 _Warnings: mentions of both child abuse and minor character death._

* * *

"Doctor, I'm glad you're here. The boy's father arrived five minutes ago," the nurse on the other side of the curtain whispered. "He wants to see his son, but we decided it would be best to wait until you arrived so you can handle things."

For some unknown reason, her words caused Jim's shoulders to roll in knots. Feeling the strain across his shoulder blades, he pressed back into his seat, the only chair in the sectioned room, beside a vacant bed. The no-nonsense, blond nurse had immediately ushered him in here instead of straight into David's more private room.

No, he'd never even met his own son, but he'd gotten here in record speed with the proper identification. He'd shown them everything. He'd answered their questions. And why wouldn't he? He was here for his son. His son had no one else, his mother having died in a suspicious crash earlier this morning, David the sole survivor of the wreck. His step-father by name only, a man who'd never officially married Carol, was on the run.

He didn't care for the lack of privacy, not in a situation like this. What he had to say was sensitive, too personal to be broadcasted in this clinic. He was just about to stand up and find the doctor himself when he heard a smack of something—papers, files, or a fist—against a wall.

He startled at the harsh sound.

"Yeah?" someone growled. "The boy's father? That lazy, no good, son of a—"

Jim's mouth fell open. What the hell? He was anything but lazy or...

"Doctor McCoy," the nurse insisted. "He could hear you."

Jim narrowed his eyes at the curtain, trying to match the name to the silhouette he saw. Anna? Kate? No, that wasn't right. What was her name?

"I don't care if the mother fu—"

"Get a hold of yourself," she interrupted. "You've been working yourself to death, Leonard, alternating between here and the hospital. I wouldn't be surprised if you haven't slept in days."

"Cops here yet?" McCoy asked, ignoring the rather sincere and concerned nurse.

Jim sank into the chair, now even more troubled. Cops? Why were the cops coming? He'd been told over holovid by the police themselves that they didn't need to speak with David or the nurses anymore today. Only that Jim should finalize matters with the social worker, who was going to be late arriving at the clinic.

"No, but you better go in there, Dr. McCoy," the nurse warned in a soft voice. "Mr. Kirk looks like a man who gets what he wants."

Jim blinked several times. He looked like a man who gets what he wants? Hardly. He was wearing Spock's old suit, which really wasn't all that comfortable. He'd put on a little weight since he'd sold the house to help his mother and took up the couch at his friend's place in Iowa. Okay, so maybe a lot. His shoes were tight enough that he kept tripping in them. His hair wasn't anything to brag about today, either. But he'd been stuck with nothing when the shuttle worker had lost his luggage. He'd been at the mercy of Spock for a ride to the clinic, too. Getting mugged as soon as he'd stepped out of the taxi did that to people. To _him_. Robbed him. Left him with nothing, scuffing him up a bit. He often wonder if he had a target printed on his back? One that said "Hurt Me." Ever since he could remember, he just couldn't catch a break.

Even now his arm ached at the thought of being bowled over again by thugs. Hitting the ground with the same, hard force, despite his efforts to knock them down, instead. He'd been too surprised to react early enough. He hated to admit it, but his weight had also played a factor in his sluggish reflexes.

He shifted uneasily in his seat and pressed his arm into his chest. After he saw his son, he'd ask about something for himself. Ice, at least. Maybe a sling.

"Yeah, yeah. It's a facade. I know the type. Just keep watch, Christine," the doctor growled, and the curtain abruptly parted.

Jim held his breath, expecting McCoy to continue his rant, but he just looked at him. The doctor's blood-shot eyes raked him from head to toe, and back up to his head with a disdainful expression.

He braced himself, waiting for the storm to hit.

"Mr. Kirk?" McCoy asked flatly.

"Yes?" Jim's heart drummed frightfully fast.

He hadn't noticed the Southern drawl before, and quite frankly, he didn't like it. It was warm sweet, the opposite of his eyes, indicating this man was far from being a Southern gentleman.

Self-conscious, he pulled at his shirt, tugging it over his belly.

"What kinda man are you?" McCoy asked through clenched teeth.

"What?"

"I said," McCoy said, his expression changing in an instant, "What kind of man are you? Who do you think you are to treat him like this?"

The doctor's exhausted, overall fatigued look had almost fooled Jim. What he saw now chilled him to the bone.

Yep. His instincts had been right. Not sweet.

"I...uh..." Jim tried to find an escape but, finding none, tried to inch back further into the chair.

"I know what you've been up to with him. The bruises," McCoy said harshly. "The past breaks. I looked up in his file. I promise you that it will be no Sunday picnic once the cops arrive."

"I...excuse me?" Jim's voice cracked. He pulled himself up, trying to look like a man who would wear a suit. Confident. Sure of himself. Well-liked. Wealthy. Things he really wasn't. "What the hell are you—"

McCoy loomed over him and gripped his left arm. Jim's vision flared. He fell limply into his chair, his vision practically whiting out from the pain.

"Shit," he whispered, squeezing his eyes shut. "Can you...let...me go..."

"There's no way in hell I'm letting you walk outta here. We were told to keep you here if you came knocking at our door. There's a warrant out for your arrest." The doctor squeezed harder and Jim sagged heavily against the side of his chair. "Losers like you have no business waltzing in here like this. You want to see your stepson? You have to get through me."

"Fine," Jim groaned, feeling sweat bead along his forehead and cheeks. Maybe he should've had his arm checked out sooner, like Spock had suggested. "Just...let go of me. Or..." He thought quickly. "I'll...tell the police...you assaulted _me_."

"How dare you?" McCoy gritted. "Do you think this is all a game?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

The doctor narrowed his eyes but released him. "You're lying."

Limp with pain, Jim leaned to his right side and cradled his arm, practically falling out of his seat, all thirty-five extra pounds of him.

He gave a short, dry laugh. "Can you at least explain why you're yelling at me?" he asked, blinking his way through the constant, throbbing stabs of pain shooting up and down his arm as he pulled himself up. "Loser or not...I should know, right?"

A look of pure, unadulterated contempt poured from the doctor's eyes, something that Jim never wanted to see first hand like this ever again. He'd been through things worse than this, fights and assaults over the course of his young life. But he'd finally paved a serene life for himself after years and years of trying to get away from men—and even some women—like McCoy. Strong, angry men who thought they could push him around, and usually succeeded. Jim had been too young, too weak, and too naive to fight back.

Spock had taught him what he needed to know to defend himself, a smoother control and moves that were far better than the fighting skills he'd acquired in alleys. Spock's girlfriend, Uhura, had helped him get his GED. He'd passed with flying colors. He'd gotten through advanced engineering in a second year at a local college in Iowa only because of Chekov's tutoring. Who the hell was this doctor, anyway?

"Three years old or not, he should never have to be afraid around his father," McCoy snapped. "He should never have to be treated for broken bones."

Okay. So this...this was bad. Very bad. Jim shook his head, not sure how to get through to this guy that maybe...just maybe...he had the wrong guy. Maybe even the wrong kid.

"I...you're not talking...about David, are you?" he asked.

He wanted to take the words back as soon as he saw the doctor's expression. He realized just what he was accusing him of. And who was getting hurt.

His own son.

His beautiful, innocent, three-year-old son.

Fuck.

Jim swallowed. He gazed at the floor. He stalled for time and cleared his throat, trying to reclaim his normal voice instead of the squeaky thing that had just come out of his mouth.

"You have the wrong guy," he determined, denying the situation with all that he had. "It's not me."

"They all say that, don't they," McCoy said sarcastically.

At the doctor's somewhat controlled reply, Jim finally dared to meet the man's gaze. "The abusers? Sure they do," he continued shakily, his eyes pinned on the doctor. "They also say you deserve it. You asked for it. You made them do it. But...the other guys, the ones that didn't do it...they just want to be told what happened. They just came to the scene, even though...they'd never been given a chance to even meet their own son. Or speak to him. Because their mother loved someone else, someone...who I just realized...who is the same type of person you just accused me of being."

Something hot pricked his eyes. It couldn't be tears, because he hadn't cried in years. He hardly remembered what it was like to cry, he'd held all his pain back for so long, tried to clean up his image the best he could. And now he understood why he never cried. The wetness behind his eyes was like a knife digging into his skin, something he never wanted to experience again, either.

"I just want to see him," he said quietly. "Something other than a holo. A real face to touch, a hand...that I can hold. Make sure that he's okay."

McCoy stared at him, for the first time actually listening to what he had to say.

"Dr. McCoy?" The same nurse as before lifted the curtain and stepped inside the makeshift room. She frowned at McCoy. "I'm sure Mr. Kirk wants to see his son now. He came a long way."

"A long way?" McCoy echoed, the smooth drawl in his voice returning.

Christine smiled at Jim. "Iowa, I believe, right Mr. Kirk?"

He nodded for the sake of being courteous to her. To someone who had treated him with kind courtesy, manners that McCoy seemed to be missing. He pulled himself out of the chair, drawing his injured arm close to his chest. To heck with this guy. He was going to find his son on his own. This was a small clinic, run by doctors from surrounding hospitals, including Starfleet General. Doctors who volunteered their time after hours, which had to be McCoy's case. It was small clinic, heralded in the media as serving this suburb of San Francisco for the good of humanity—or so he heard—but Jim was going to make damn sure that he'd file a complaint.

At least, that was his first thought. Maybe he shouldn't, being the son of a hero. Maybe he should be glad there was someone here that would stand up against a bully or an abuser. He sure as hell had never had that someone, his mom having been placed in a mental hospital on the day he turned fourteen. He hoped that someday, she actually did get better. He missed her. She was the only family he had.

He regretted, and not for the first time, that he'd stayed at home that night to nurse a broken heart while the cadets, in their fresh Starfleet uniforms, including Carol, had practically overrun his favorite bar. He'd gone in the next morning, though, to help Stu clean up the place and earn some extra money. Money he'd never spent on himself. By chance, he'd met Spock online when he'd inquired into the science program at the Academy. They'd hit it off as friends from the first words they ever exchanged. Yet, he couldn't shake the feeling that somehow, he'd missed something by not forcing himself to walk the plank, so to speak, and head out on a ship for the stars. Stars he dreamt about every single night of his pathetic existence.

All those years ago, and he still felt the heavy weight of his mistake. A part of him still loved Carol, a woman who'd first scorned her parentage and then also him, deciding to go her own way. He didn't know why he still loved her. They'd had two wild months together. That was it. Barely even sixty days.

Maybe it was the ideal he'd loved. _Still_ loved. Having someone who loved him back. And when their relationship failed, he'd punished himself by staying away from the Academy, where she'd been enrolled. He didn't want to run into her, it had been the last thing in the world he'd ever wanted to do. But learning of her pregnancy had changed all of that. Ironic, for when he'd wanted to see her and their child, she'd managed to make a case against him. Spock's lawyer had changed that, and now, with her death, he was the child's guardian.

"I'll do it myself." Jim set his jaw.

McCoy blinked, taking a deep breath. "Look, there seems to be some mistake."

"Let me check your arm," the nurse said swiftly. "Please."

"There's no mistake, and my arm's fine," he said tersely to them both. "I'm here to see the social worker and David and take him...take him home."

He didn't bother telling the doctor he had no real home here, just a couch, because he sent the money he made as a security consultant to the people watching over his mother. He didn't bother telling the doctor where he thought he should go—a place where the sun didn't shine.

A stubborn, foolish man like McCoy wasn't worth the effort.

Instead, he set his mind to walking out of there as fast as he could. The bruises he'd sustained from his fall onto concrete kept him from moving like a normal twenty-four-year old, but he finally managed to slip past McCoy and Christine, the nurse.

"Wait, please."

He set his jaw. "No, we're done here."

He didn't need a doctor. Not back then, and certainly not now. His son did, but it wouldn't be this one.

And if it did occur, it would be over his dead body.

He headed for David's room, without a single glance back.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Thanks for reading! Please, review? :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:** Time for McCoy's POV. :)

* * *

McCoy set his charts down on his desk at Starfleet General with a clatter and leaned back in his chair. He crossed his arms, sighing heavily. Christine had been right. He hadn't slept all week. Only a few measly hours. And it was certainly catching up to him, if his colossal mistake yesterday at the clinic was any indication.

Most of it was his own damn fault, his unwillingness to head out with Captain Pike, or anyone, for that matter. How he'd avoided orders for the black as of yet, he had no idea. He attributed his lucky streak to karma, because he was pretty damn good at, well, helping people. He'd volunteered for extra days at one of Starfleet's clinics, hadn't he? A job that was classified at the bottom of the totem pole. Of course, he'd volunteered for the sole purpose of escaping any possible orders to head out on a starship. Funny, since he'd joined Starfleet, which operated in space. Such was his life. A complete contradiction. He'd also vowed to do no harm, and as of yesterday, had broken that vow.

Kirk had never given him the chance to rectify his mistake, a case of mistaken identity. Instead, he'd become defensive, demanding that the other physician in the building explain David's medical condition to him and, hence, treat them both.

He'd acquiesced. He really couldn't blame him. Nor did he wish to provoke the man anymore than he already had. Kirk had enough on his plate. More so now, since McCoy had created a problem which required that he write himself up for his misconduct.

He hadn't completed the form yet. It would go to his supervisor, Boyce, and Boyce wasn't a man to trifle with. He'd already questioned him about his extravagant volunteering, which was, in his defense, allowed. Starfleet morale was down, several skirmishes between Marcus and the Klingons having been blown out of proportion, at least according to both Pike and Boyce. Working with civilians was part of a plan Boyce himself had created in partnership with HQ.

As helpful as the program was, Boyce hadn't wanted McCoy to take part in it at first. This misconduct charge in his file was the nail in his coffin. He had a feeling that once word was out of his misstep, he'd be sent out into the black in the blink of an eye. Pike commed every week about it. He wanted him as his CMO. Why, McCoy didn't know. There were others more qualified than him. Boyce, for example. Puri, who had been his CMO before becoming a professor at the Academy. McCoy, on the other hand, had barely passed his flight sim. Not only that, but his sim was the one the teachers used to show students how not to take a flight sim.

His sim was the stuff of legends. The wrong kind of legends.

Why the hell would Pike want _him_ on his ship?

If he knew what was good for him, he'd find where Kirk was staying while David remained one more day at the clinic for observation and approach him. Away from the clinic. Away from anything that could remind Kirk of their rough introduction. Looking back, the man seemed genuine, from what he saw from afar later that day. So he was a little rough around the edges, but who was he to talk? McCoy had been hungover the very day he'd joined Starfleet, the lonely shuttle ride to San Francisco adding to his depression.

He still didn't feel like he quite fit in. Burying himself in work at the hospital and clinic took care of the feeling most days. Just not today.

He decided to call it a day, to head back to his place for some sleep, rounds be damned. He rose from his desk and stalked out his door, running into a solid chest.

"Dammit, man," he cursed, taking a single step back. He rubbed his shoulder, wincing. "Watch where you're going."

"Indeed, Doctor McCoy," the offender said calmly, "You must heed your own advice."

He glared at the man, who he now recognized but hadn't the opportunity to formally meet. He tried to soften his expression and appear more cordial, but the sleepless nights made that difficult.

"Professor Spock," he said stiffly, giving him a narrow look when he saw that the professor seemed to have no desire to move out of his way. "How can I help you?"

"I must have a word with you."

McCoy's brows raised. That was...both straightforward and confusing. Why did he need to speak to him? "Now?"

Spock inclined his head towards McCoy's office door. "Now would be advantageous, as it appears that you are leaving for the day."

The Vulcan's monotone response was unnerving. "Fine. Walk with me."

He didn't wait for Spock to agree, but headed straight for the lift with a surge of energy. He really wasn't in an agreeable mood of any type. However, Spock was a friend to Boyce and also to Pike. He'd have to at least try to be friendly.

Spock followed him into the lift, speaking before he could even open his mouth. "Computer. First floor," he said swiftly, before turning back to him. "Doctor McCoy, you have grievously wronged Cadet Kirk."

McCoy blinked. "How do you know…" He stopped and narrowed his eyes at Spock. "Wait a minute. Cadet? _Cadet_ Kirk?"

His heart raced. Kirk wasn't a cadet, was he? He wasn't as of yesterday. But if he had enlisted, it meant that this was going to be one for the books. A scar on his perfect record. A blemish after years of hard work. He inwardly groaned. Why had he pushed himself so much lately? If he had just gotten over his aviophobia, he wouldn't be in this mess.

"Cadet?" he repeated, the truth of the situation buzzing in his ear like an annoying bee. "Are you sure…?"

Spock nodded. "I am one hundred percent certain, Doctor McCoy. His grades are excellent at the community college, and he is in need of housing for himself and his son. He heeded my advice, and that of his new advisor Captain Pike, as I knew he would. He enlisted last night."

No, no, no. He enlisted? He groaned, pressing his forehead into the wall. He'd made trouble for a cadet? One Pike had taken under his wing? This was far worse than he'd anticipated.

He heard the swish of the lift door as it opened. He groaned again, unprepared to face the world.

"Computer. Close door." Spock ordered. "However, he is unwilling," he continued in a gentler tone, "and I quote, 'to come clean,' and discuss what happened at the clinic with the proper authorities."

McCoy pushed himself away from the lift wall. "Wait. What?"

"Doctor, you appear to have difficulty listening to what I am saying," Spock said, his hands clasped behind his back.

"No," McCoy said, frowning. "It's not that. I am just...surprised. That's all."

"Kirk is unpredictable," Spock concurred. "He will commence his classes next week."

"With a kid? That he just met? And...his weight?" He could only see trouble ahead for Kirk. How could he keep up, both mentally and physically? Who would be willing to help him? Encourage him to care for himself a little better?

Spock's expression immediately cooled. "Jim, as you will find," he said, firm jawed, "is used to these misconceptions." He paused, his eyes hardening as he stared at McCoy. "However, as you will find, I am unused to these false and rather cruel assumptions made about my friend."

McCoy winced, taken aback by the emotion he'd exuded and the loyalty he had toward Kirk. "That didn't come out right. I'm just…" _An ass. A complete and utter fool where this man is_..."...concerned," he finished lamely.

Spock bored holes into him. As if he didn't believe him. As if he'd heard every word he'd spoken in his head.

He didn't blame him for it, either. He kneaded his forehead, more frustrated with himself than he could even explain. He wasn't normally this, this...difficult or judgemental. He was making a mess of it all. Again. He needed a damn vacation.

"Listen, Spock," he said, unable to hide how exasperated he was with himself. "Even if he's on campus—"

"He has yet to find appropriate living arrangements."

"Okay, then," McCoy said, slightly irritated for being interrupted. "Even if he _has a few friends,_ he'll need help."

"Are you offering to assist—"

"God, no!" McCoy blurted out.

"You are averse to helping him with his three-year-old child? Do you not have a child of your own?" Spock asked with what McCoy assumed to be the patience of a Vulcan. Maybe a dozen Vulcans.

He flushed, guilt flooding him. "Yes. I mean...no to being averse and yes to offering to assist him. That is, if I cut back on my hours at the clinic."

"Yes?" Spock repeated slowly, drawing out those three letters for all that they were worth.

He rolled his eyes. "A hundred percent yes," he said before he could think twice.

Spock arched a brow.

"It's the least I could do," he continued hurriedly, getting the vague feeling that he'd been set up.

Spock's shoulders relaxed. "I concur. I am also convinced that Jim will accept your assistance if you allow him a minimum of twenty-four additional hours to reach a state of necessary serenity. Time he requires before submitting himself to your presence."

This professor certainly had a way with words.

"Are you always this...personal?" McCoy muttered.

"I am merely suggesting the most logical course of action."

Spock lifted his chin in a way that made McCoy feel about two inches tall. He couldn't explain it, but that, in turn, infused him with an even greater passion to do whatever it took to make Kirk the best damn cadet Starfleet has ever seen. But, it could also be that he had a child of his own. A daughter only a few years older than David. Of course he never saw her except a few times each year, but he had a child, too, just the same.

It appeared that he actually had something in common with Kirk.

He scowled, shoving the thought aside. He wasn't planning on making friends with him. Just helping him enough to ease his own conscience.

"I'd like to see him succeed at the Academy as much as you do," he claimed.

"Doctor," Spock said, peering down his nose at him. "I highly doubt that is the case."


	3. Chapter 3

Jim set the last box down on the table with a huff. He wasn't used to carrying heavy boxes, his more sedentary job demanding his attention at all hours. Now that he'd actually broken a sweat, he realized he'd missed this type of physical activity. Sure he walked, but it wasn't weightlifting, or running, or anything else that was physically demanding. He'd consider stepping it up a bit, as long as he didn't strain his arm. He'd hate to have a setback just as soon as he was getting his life back on track. Doctor Phelps, the other physician who'd been working the same night as McCoy, had told him to take it easy for a few weeks. Jim, knowing when to hold his tongue, said nothing of his move. It was bad enough that things hadn't gone so well with McCoy.

He didn't need two doctors judging him.

"Gaila?" he called out, peering through the doorway into the kitchen. "David?"

"In here, Jimmy," Gaila said, laughter quickly following.

It was a good sound echoing through his living quarters, considering all that they'd been through the past several days. David was still a little sore from the car accident that had taken his mother's life, and from what appeared to be a contusion on his right side, an imprint of a man's hand. Otherwise, he was in good physical health. Relatively. But Jim worried about his son's emotional well-being most of all, thoughts of David's emotional scars keeping him up at night. The funeral had been yesterday, with no sign of Carol's father, from whom she'd been estranged. Only her mother, who had given Jim her number. She, at least, had taken an interest in her grandson.

His school schedule was pretty full, but David was his first priority. He'd made sure, with Pike's help, that he would have time each morning and evening with his son. He'd also made appointments for both of them to see a counselor. That, however, had been at Pike's insistence. Though he'd been slightly annoyed by Pike's excessive fatherly concern, and let it be known that he'd hated the idea of stepping into a shrink's office, he'd silently thanked him. But Pike didn't have to know that, either.

Jim chuckled dryly. Once, a lifetime ago, he'd been even more devious. Once he'd lied to stay alive; this time his intentions were to thrive.

As long as he pushed most of the past aside, and didn't run into McCoy, the man who'd brought back a lifetime of sordid memories, his future held more hope than he'd ever thought was possible.

Fat chance on running into the doctor. Spock had hinted that McCoy wanted to apologize after he settled in, but Jim had merely shrugged and said no. Then, he'd overheard Pike say that one Leonard McCoy would be shipped out with him on the Enterprise once it was ready. That meant the doctor would be spending more time with the higher ups, and shorter missions until that time, which meant he wouldn't be frequenting the campus as much.

He smiled to himself and brushed the dust off his hands. For once, life was looking good. He headed towards the kitchen where he'd last seen them, a spring in his step. They'd been creating art while Jim had carried their meager belongings up from the bottom floor to the third. He'd ignored the lift. His past, hectic lifestyle and lackluster mindset was going to limit him in Starfleet if he wasn't careful. He also realized that he wanted muscle, not necessarily a thinner body. He'd have to work even harder to get that muscle.

He was no longer on Tarsus, forced to live a life on the run, at first gaining strength but then gradually losing both it and body fat.

Funny how a year on that planet had irrevocably damaged his soul for the past decade. He couldn't think through anything without reliving that part of his life, as much as he tried not to. There was also something about being on campus that brought it all out.

At least Pike had given him bigger things to chew on. He'd made him promise that he would consider the command track. Jim had a feeling that if he did more than just consider it, if he made up his mind to become a captain of his own ship, a vessel that was ideal for family life, then he'd have to be more physically fit than he was.

Part of him feared that he wasn't up to the challenge, not with everything else he had going on. Being a single dad? Who barely had enough money to get by? Who had a myriad of issues, including low self-esteem? A psyche twisted by famine?

His self-doubt wasn't deterring his best friend. Spock had promised to teach him meditation to help him with his depression, as well as with the poor eating habits that had worsened since his break up with Carol. For once, he'd agreed. It meant facing what happened on Tarsus again. Facing the challenges that starvation had imposed upon him. Facing the boy that he used to be, who was now a stranger to him because he'd run the other way, never to look back.

But, for David's sake, he'd do it. He'd do _anything_.

Maybe if he allowed his friends to help him more, he'd actually get somewhere in life instead of allowing the past to ruin his chances for a good life. At one time, he'd had no friends. Now, he had Spock. Uhura. Chekov. Gaila. Even Pike.

He entered the room and leaned against the counter instead of taking a seat, grinning at his son. David pressed a thumb three times on his paper, finishing what appeared to be three stick figures, painted in an array of colors.

"Daddy, wook!" David said proudly, lifting it up with both hands for him to see. His thumb made an incidental impression along the side, not that he noticed. In fact, Jim found the irregularity refreshing. Imperfect, just like he was. "I painting!"

He knelt on his knees beside his son, inspecting his painting like it was an original, famous piece hung at the Smithsonian. It meant far more to him than any painting in the galaxy, so it wasn't hard to enjoy David's creation. He never would have believed that David would take to him as well as he had. And yet, that's exactly what had occurred. He was the missing piece of his life, filling the hole in his heart.

"I see that," he said softly. "When it dries, how about we frame it and hang it on our wall? So you can see it right when you come in?"

David's eyes lit up, enhancing their blue, reminding him of his own preschool pictures. The ones his mother had kept under her pillow each night, thinking he never knew.

"Weelwey?" David whispered.

His son's small voice tugged at his heart.

"You bet, slugger," Jim said, ruffling David's hair.

"Weel Mommy see it?"

Gaila sucked in a breath.

Jim pressed a kiss to David's forehead to hide his emotion. "I'm sure she will," he said breathlessly. "Now, go wash your hands. We might take a walk to get something to eat."

He made a mental note to stock the fridge before Gaila left for the day. As much as he wanted to avoid it, he couldn't any longer.

"Otay!" David bounded from the table at warp speed.

Jim blinked at the blur that was his small son. David was truly amazing. So amazing that he wasn't sure he even deserved his son. Just look at the mess he'd made of his life up until now.

Still, his heart continued to ache from the knowledge that Carol had kept him out of David's life for the past three years. At this moment, however, it was far less troubled, lightened by knowing that David was his to love, and be with every day, for the rest of his life. No matter what, he wouldn't leave him behind for the world. He'd find a position in Starfleet that would be conducive to his new life as a single dad.

"He's adorable," Gaila practically squealed behind him. "And I'm the lucky girl who gets to watch him three days a week."

He stood and turned to his new babysitter, Uhura's beautiful, Orion roommate. At first, he'd been a little hesitant at the offer. Gaila just seemed too bubbly and too damn happy to know that she wanted to babysit a small child, but Uhura had assured him that she would take care of David like he was her own son.

"You sure you can't manage five days?" he asked, holding his breath.

Starfleet's day care was exceptional, but he wanted David at home as much as possible, to give him a greater sense of security. At least this first year.

"Sorry, Jimmy." Gaila tugged on one of her curls, watching him thoughtfully. "I do know someone who is available for at least six months, working around his schedule, of course. But he's willing."

"You know someone?" Jim asked, his heart lurching. "Who?"

Gaila let go of the tendril. It bobbed up and down like a spring as she tapped her chin with a perfectly manicured finger. "You've met him already."

Jim frowned. "I really don't know who you're talking about."

The only people he'd met were other students, or faculty, and none of them had taken too much interest in him. And why would they? Sure, he was technically a genius. But he really was only a frumpy-looking cadet who minded his own damn business.

"Spock's bringing him by today," she said brightly, slipping out of her chair. She came around to Jim, suddenly embracing him, tickling his neck with her hair. "Jimmy, it'll be perfect."

She squeezed him tightly, kissing him on the cheek.

"Gaila," he gasped, feeling like he was surrounded by a pack of Orion females. "Can't...breathe…"

He couldn't think...

He breathed deeply, feeling a bit...tipsy. He vaguely remembered that Orions...something about Orion females…about...

Something.

"Wow, Gaila…" He moaned, wanting to melt into her body.

She gasped, relaxing in his embrace. "I'm sorry, I lost control of myself." She giggled. "Literally. Those pheromones…"

He clung to her. "That's what this is?"

She peeled herself from his grasp and threw him a wary look that he didn't quite understand when he pulled her back into his arms.

"Stay with me, Gaila," he whispered, nibbling at her ear.

The doorbell chimed, but the sound failed to penetrate his desire for Gaila.

She giggled, the curls around her face bouncing. "You better sit down, Jimmy. That's probably Spock, now. I really didn't mean…"

His doorbell rang again, interrupting her.

"Spock?" Jim asked, blinking. He twisted his head around, trying to find the door. "That must be...I better...I better...answer door…"

He turned to go, but swayed. Gaila caught him just in time. She took his arm and threw it around her shoulders.

"Oh, Jimmy," she said with a laugh, turning him toward the door, instead of the opposite way he'd been going. "Let me help you. I hope you forgive me when you come to your senses."

He snorted. "How could I not forgive you? You're going to babysit…babysit…" He looked at her, confused. "Let's go to bed."

This time, she snorted. "If you were yourself, I might take you up on your offer. You're a handsome boy, Jimmy, with so much to love. I know I'd just adore you. But, you aren't yourself, and your little boy is here, so I won't. But I still adore you."

"Uh-huh," he said, enjoying the sound of her vibrant voice as she talked.

She sighed. "But I will watch David for you today, just as I promised." She frowned. "Maybe I shouldn't answer the door just yet. They won't forgive me for this," she muttered.

"Who?" Jim asked loudly. "Spock?"

"Yeah, and…" Her voice trailed off as they stood in front of his door. "Jimmy…"

"Yeah?"

He tried to stand up straight, but she was too alluring. He leaned forward to sniff her neck.

She sighed and placed her hands on both of his arms, gently pushing him away. "Listen to me," she said, looking him in the eye.

"Okay," he laughed drunkenly.

"Whatever happens next, remember that it's for your own good," she said with a pert lift to her chin.

"Right."

She sighed. "Here goes," she said, and opened the door.

Jim stood in the doorway, ready to greet his guests with a warm courtesy that was influenced by Gaila's pheromones, only to stare, slackjawed, at the man who appeared. The very man who'd misjudged him.

McCoy solemnly stared back, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder and a suitcase in his hand. Jim's stomach flipped as he guessed the reason behind it. Spock stood right behind him, his expression hopeful.

Too shocked to speak, Jim made a small noise in his throat.

"Hello, Jim," McCoy said quietly.


End file.
